


sounds like you're waking up

by horatioandophelia



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist!R, Emotional Baggage, M/M, activist!E, yay for therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 21:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21380593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horatioandophelia/pseuds/horatioandophelia
Summary: Grantaire thinks that, really, he's been avoiding all of his demons for... years now. Enjolras was just the catalyst.Didn't make it any easier, though.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 86





	sounds like you're waking up

“Why are you here, Grantaire?”

He shook his head. “There’s something - there’s just something wrong. I can’t explain it, I just know.”

“That’s fine,” said the therapist, nodding.

“Yeah,” he said. “And I need to fix it. There’s something in me that’s broken - it’s like there’s been something dying inside me for years and I never wanted to look at it.” He looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap. “And I was okay with that, you know? I was okay with being broken and ugly, I thought that was who I was. I thought I was an abomination and I was fine with it. How fucked up is that?” He laughed, trying to dislodge the tears from his throat. “Anyway, that’s why I’m here. I guess, after what he said, I kind of realized I’m not okay with being broken anymore. And I want to fix -- it. Me.”

The therapist nodded again, her eyes serious. “I think that what your friend said was very unfair. But I also think it’s very brave of you to want to change."

“Oh, yeah, definitely brave,” said Grantaire bitterly. “I’m such a mess that even I can’t deny it anymore, and only now do I reach out for help because I can’t bear looking in the mirror now. Brave as hell.”

The therapist smiled. “Okay,” she said gently. “Let’s start with that. What about what happened changed the way you see yourself?”

_ “And that’s Enjolras,” said Eponine, pointing at a blond boy Grantaire hadn’t seen before. “He’s full of righteous fury, social causes, all that. You’ll love him. Or hate him. Not sure.” _

_ Grantaire laughed. “He cares about things? Pretty sure I’ll hate him, Ep.” _

_ “I don’t know, man,” said Eponine, trying to wink as she took another swig from her cup. “He’s kind of your type.” _

_ “Uh-huh,” said Grantaire skeptically, squinting in Blondie’s direction. On closer inspection, he  _ was _ pretty attractive - and he definitely had the whole ‘rabid social activist’ vibe. “Get your boyfriend to introduce me.” _

_ “For God’s sake, R, he’s not my boyfriend! He likes some other girl!” _

_ “Oh, shit, I forgot.” Grantaire grimaced. “Whoops?” _

_ Eponine punched his arm. “Fucker. Here, I’ll introduce you myself. Enjolras!” _

“It was hard, talking about all of it,” said Grantaire honestly, looking out over the back alley behind his apartment. “But - this sounds so dumb, my God - I know it’s going to work because I can feel it, right? Like I’m finally breaking all these walls that I’ve had for so, so many years. It’s going to take a long time, I know, but I want to keep trying.”

Eponine smiled, taking a drag from her cigarette and passing it back to Grantaire. “Doesn’t sound dumb,” she said softly. “Sounds like you’re waking up.”

Grantaire’s throat worked. “Yeah,” he whispered, looking up at the stars and exhaling. He leaned over the fire escape, feeling Eponine’s eyes on him. “I’ve been stuck for so long, Ep, and I can’t believe it’s taken so much for me to see it. Or want to do something about it.”

Eponine considered him. “I didn’t think you ever would. I thought you would always sit in the back and talk shit and be in love with Enjolras and never do anything about it,” she said. “I was totally okay with that. Honestly, I thought we were going to be depression buddies forever in high school, but then I had to pull my head out of my ass for Gav and Zelma and face up to all my shit. But I never thought you would.” She sighed, plucking the cigarette from between Grantaire’s fingers. “It’s really difficult sometimes, R, but it’s so worth it.”

Grantaire smiled miserably. “You sure?” 

Eponine nodded, studying the bins at the end of the alley. “Yeah. One day you’ll look up and you’ll see the birds flying overhead and you’ll just almost start crying because you feel so free you can’t even breathe. Or you’ll be eating a peach or something and the juice’ll spill over your fingers and you’ll start laughing. You start seeing how beautiful everything is.” She looked at him. “For a while I cried every day. I really think you need to cry, honestly,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s awful sometimes. Keep going.”

_ For the third time in the past ten minutes, Grantaire swore he felt his soul leave his body. His fingers were twitching spasmodically under the table, tracing Enjolras’s profile with an imaginary pencil over and over.  _

_ Eponine had been right, he was exactly Grantaire’s type - in fact, Grantaire was pretty sure that everyone he had ever been attracted to before had been a pale prototype of the golden angel in front of him. Enjolras was radiant, beautiful, and so passionate that Grantaire felt like a slimy, pale creature watching an eagle fly above him. He was enraptured. He still wasn’t sure that Enjolras knew his name.  _

_ Enjolras was saying something, quite earnestly, about the price of higher education, and Grantaire was desperate, so he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. _

_ “But higher education is available already to people who have the grades to get scholarships, right? So why should it be free for some dumb shmuck?” _

_ Enjolras’s blue eyes turned to him, raked him over, and turned to bright steel. “Because education is a right. Education is all we have. And if you think that the class-driven, patriarchal version of higher education that exists today is a just and valid system, then -- ”  _

_ Grantaire tuned out, content to watch Enjolras burn through his arguments and illuminate the whole room. He would be content to sit in the shadows and bask in the sunshine. It would have to be enough. _

Grantaire picked up his phone, glaring at the notification.

_ Enjolras: You’ve missed the last three meetings. Can we talk? _

Taking a deep breath, he dismissed the message, then texted Combeferre. 

_ You: hey ferre, i don’t really want to speak to enj right now. Just an fyi bc he’ll probably get pretty pissed about it _

Combeferre responded immediately.

_ Combeferre: Yeah, he’s kind of upset, but I totally get it and I think it might be a good call after what happened. _

Grantaire let out a shaky breath, swallowing the gigantic ball of uncertainty that had taken up permanent residence in the back of his throat some time ago. His phone pinged again, making him jump.

_ Combeferre: Courf says he’s sending you good vibes. _

_ Combeferre: :) _

His eyes suddenly filled, overwhelmed by the generosity of friends he hadn’t been sure he could count on.  _ I don’t have to defend myself. I can do this. _ Shaking his head, he turned back to his easel. 

The colors looked a little brighter. 

Therapy was going well. His pieces were selling in the small galleries where he’d placed them. Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he squinted at his canvas. He wasn’t totally in love with what was taking shape, but it looked alright. Surprisingly enough. 

He had kept in touch with everyone, telling them that he was focusing a lot more on work and that he was too busy to go to meetings. Everyone except Jehan, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Joly believed him, and even they hadn’t questioned his motives. The funny thing was that this time he actually  _ was _ focusing on work, not spiralling into a depressive episode or fucking off for a week and getting high off his ass. 

It was  _ fulfilling.  _

He tried not to dwell on it, or acknowledge that there were fewer liquor bottles and cigarette cartons in the trash nowadays. He tried not to think about Enjolras, and tried not to recognize his face in all the sketches in discarded piles all around his tiny studio. 

He glanced around, blinking when he saw the streetlights illuminated in the darkened street through the window.  _ What time is it? Jesus, I never used to paint like this.  _ He carefully skirted around the thought that he never used to be able to focus for this long, glancing surreptitiously at the half-empty bottle of vodka that had been sitting on his sketch table for two days, untouched. 

He frowned, listening to the cars drive past.  _ I guess I just never used to care that much. About… anything.  _

There was a knock at the door. It opened to reveal Eponine, still dressed in her tiny waitress outfit that always made Courfeyrac look outraged and that Enjolras used as an example of ‘toxic patriarchy manifesting as sexism’. She looked exhausted. 

“Hey, R,” she said. “I think I’m too tired to go out tonight, I’m sorry. Would it be okay if we just stayed in and watched a movie?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” said Grantaire, surprising himself. It  _ did  _ sound good. 

_ Who the hell am I now? _

“Therapy is  _ insane,  _ J,” said Grantiare fervently from the couch, watching Jehan knit what he could only describe as a hot pink monstrosity. “Apparently I’ve been angry about all these things that happened to me, and I never  _ let  _ myself feel angry? About my mom, my childhood, all this old stuff I just buried. How insane is that? So now I’m just starting to feel all the anger from shit that happened ages ago!”

Jehan looked at him over their knitting needles. “Yeah, that’s pretty insane.” They considered him. “But that’s also really amazing that you’re facing all of this.”

“You know,” said Grantaire, shoving himself up on one elbow. “Everyone keeps  _ saying _ that, but it doesn’t seem amazing. It seems like I’ve been chickening out on life for years and I’m only looking at it in the face now. At twenty-three. Not amazing.”

Jehan just looked at him, smiling slightly. 

“Hey. Stop looking at me like that.”

Jehan giggled. “Do you want to come to Musichetta’s party with us tonight? Everyone’s gonna be there.”

Ice stabbed through Grantaire’s heart. “Even -- ?”

“No,” said Jehan quickly. “Enjolras said he’s busy, he can’t make it.”

Grantaire let out a sigh of relief, which he tried to cover by shrugging nonchalantly. “Doesn’t matter. He’s -- I wouldn’t have wanted to talk to him anyway.”

“I get it,” said Jehan. “But you don’t need to worry. He’s busy trying to change the world.”

“Jehan,” said Grantaire softly. “I need you to be honest with me. Am I wrong, trying to stay away from him? Just for now?”

Jehan pursed their lips, looking down. “I’m not a very judgemental person, R, and I forgive a lot of stuff,” they said softly. “But what he said… I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to him again.”

Grantaire swallowed hard. “I wish I felt strong enough to do that.”

Jehan looked at him softly. “And I wish,” they said. “That for once, you would just trust yourself enough to believe that you'll do what’s right for you.”

Grantaire threw his head back and laughed harder than he had in a long time as he watched Courfeyrac dance to an old Ke$ha song. Jehan was leaning against him as they howled with laughter at something Bahorel had said. Combeferre was making out with Eponine on the couch -  _ gotta make sure to congratulate her on that tomorrow -  _ and Joly and Bossuet were grinding atrociously in the corner of the living room. Grantaire wasn’t even that drunk; he’d only had three or four shots, and strangely enough, he didn’t want any more.

“R!” yelled Musichetta, throwing an arm around him. “I didn’t see you! How have you been?”

Grantaire looked at her, with her smudged eyeliner and bright green eyes, and smiled so hard his face hurt. “I’m doing pretty alright,” he said.

“Damn straight!” she cried, beaming at him. “You look amazing, by the way, I’m so glad you could make it! Marius should be here any minute, he’s running late. Great to see you, catch you later!” she added as Joly interrupted them by pulling her into what looked like a three-way makeout with Bossuet. 

“Honestly, though,” said Courfeyrac, popping up beside him, slightly out of breath. “You really do look great. I haven’t seen you in a month but you look like you just spent, like, a year in the Bahamas. But without the tan.” He blinked. “I think I’m drunk.”

Grantaire laughed, thinking joyously that he hadn’t smiled this much in years. “It’s alright,” he said. “I feel pretty great.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Awesome, dude! I saw your commission for the library, it looks  _ amazing _ , I was super impressed, honest.” He pressed Grantaire’s shoulder, and then turned to Jehan with a gentle smile.

Grantaire frowned, feeling eyes on him from across the room. He turned, expecting to see Marius, and was instead faced with Enjolras’s accusatory blue eyes staring at him. 

His stomach dropped. 

_ “Look, Apollo,” said Grantaire, gesturing with his glass. He couldn’t tell if he spilled anything, and he didn’t care. “It’s pointless. In all honesty, I think you’re the only one here who actually believes the bullshit that comes out of your mouth.”  _

_ Enjolras’s jaw clenched. Grantaire watched, enraptured and enraged, and hated himself for loving this, the only attention he would ever get from Enjolras.  _

_ “You’re the only one who doesn’t believe in it, you bastard,” Enjolras spat. _

_ “Oh, yeah? Then why have our numbers been dropping? Why does no one come to your meetings? Why do people shut down when you ask them their opinions and then tell them why they’re wrong instead of listening to them?” _

_ “Are you talking about your opinions, Grantaire? Because I have no time to listen to the ideas of a drunken idiot who doesn’t have any other ambition than to wreak as much destruction as possible to his own body and drag everyone down with him!” _

_ “I think, dear leader,” said Grantaire, “That you’re so caught up in your own narcissism, your own carefully-constructed vision of the future, that you don’t want to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, you might be wrong about some things.” _

_ “Like what?” spat Enjolras. “Am I wrong about you? Am I wrong when I say that you are incapable of anything? I think it’s pretty clear to all of us that you’re incapable of believing, of thinking, of living, and of even dying, so why don’t you just fuck off and leave us alone?” _

_ Jehan, sandwiched between them at the meeting table, let out a tiny sob, their shoulders shaking. Combeferre looked shell-shocked; Courfeyrac stood abruptly and left the room, his back stiff. The whole Musain had fallen silent.  _

_ Grantaire stood up; his chair made an obscenely loud shriek on the ancient floorboards. He looked at Enjolras levelly, trying not to sway on his feet. Enjolras stared back at him, unrepentant.  _

_ “Alright,” said Grantaire, feeling the words slur slightly on his tongue. Dimly, he realized he was so cold - or drunk - that he could barely speak. “I’ll go.” _

_ He walked out of the dead-silent Musain, trying not to stumble as whispers rose in his wake. As soon as the door shut behind him and the sound of soft voices was stifled, Grantaire crumpled to the pavement, doubling over with wracking sobs, feeling appallingly, shockingly empty.  _

_ “You are incapable of believing, of thinking, of living, and of even dying…”  _

Enjolras was still staring at him. 

Grantaire blinked, set his glass down on the counter, and pushed his way to the communal pile of jackets, keys, and scarves. He heard his name from behind him - maybe Combeferre’s voice? - but ignored it, blindly grabbing his coat and bolting for the back door. 

He came back to himself in Musichetta’s tiny backyard, deserted and decorated with gently flickering fairy lights. Trembling, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and shoved one into his mouth, fumbling with his lighter. Moving out of the view of the windows, he ensconced himself in an unlit corner and inhaled unsteadily. Reaching behind him and clutching at the fence, he tried to dispel the whirl of grief, rage, and terror rushing through him, but even the thought of seeing Enjolras again was so frightening that he couldn’t face going back inside.

He pulled out his phone, his hands shaking so hard that he spilled ash on the screen.

_ You: hey I’m gonna head out. Thanks for the invite, was nice to see you! _

_ Musichetta: aww ok :( it was good to see you too! Thx for stopping by, you’re always welcome R _

Pocketing his phone, Grantaire climbed over the rickety fence and walked home, smoking cigarette after cigarette as the moon rose behind him.

“So you saw him,” said his therapist gently. “Tell me about that.”

“I - I don’t know,” said Grantaire, feeling his chest contract at the memory. “I was so scared, and sad, and pissed off - I don’t even think I was upset just about what he said that day, but about so much other shit that’s happened between us…” 

His therapist nodded. “It sounds to me like he’s said things like this before, but you maybe dismissed them or glossed over them.”

Grantaire nodded, swallowing. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I think you might be right.”

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Grantaire pushed the door of the counseling center open with his shoulder, holding it for a woman and her son. Glancing up, he noticed a poinsettia blooming in the window of the coffeeshop across the street and stared. 

It was a startling red, blossoming like a joyous bloodstain in the grey of the wintery street. It was  _ beautiful. _

On the subway ride back to his studio, someone was carrying a steaming cinnamon roll that made the whole car smell like memories of Christmases with Eponine, back when neither of them had any money and they had to steal toys from Target for Zelma and Gav on Christmas Eve. At the studio, someone was playing a Tchaikovsky symphony through the wall, and he almost wept at the sweetness of the cello. The colors on his palette were so creamy and so strong that he had to repress the mad desire to eat them, or drag his fingers through them until they coated his hands like an embrace. He missed Enjolras so badly that his throat clenched. _What would he look like now that everything else is so beautiful? Would he be radiant? Could I bear it?_ _What is happening to me? _

_ You: is this what you meant by waking up? _

_ Eponine: yes.  _

Hands shaking, he opened the door to the Musain as quietly as he could and took a seat in the very back. Enjolras was already speaking, gesturing forcefully from the front of the room. His hair shone in the poor fluorescent light and his eyes shone with bright fire. Grantaire could see the muscles in his neck move as he tossed his head back with a particularly profound point. He was beautiful. 

There were more people at this meeting, definitely more people; Grantaire noted, relieved, that he would probably go unnoticed in the crowd. Enjolras’s gaze combed through them all with his customary passion, but there was something gentler and more compassionate in his expression, as if he really cared that each and every person was there listening to him - or maybe it was just wishful thinking. Grantaire was kind of far away. 

Enjolras kept looking through the group as he spoke, distinguishing each person, more quickly than Grantaire had anticipated - and before Grantaire could look away or turn his head, their eyes met. 

Grantaire’s breath left him in a rush. Even from the very back, he could see Enjolras’s throat bob, and he heard him stammer slightly, then come to a halt. He heard Combeferre say something softly, then pick up where Enjolras had left off. Enjolras just stood, struck dumb, still staring at Grantaire, who felt so nauseously wrongfooted that he couldn’t seem to move his eyes away from Enjolras. 

_ I shouldn’t have come. _

Breaking eye contact, he stood up quietly, murmuring apologies to the people sitting next to him as he brushed past them, heading for the back door. There was a vague commotion behind him, but he ignored it, pushing the door open and breathing cold fog into the night air. 

Someone was playing Christmas music from inside another building, but it was so soft that he couldn’t distinguish anything but the sound of bells. It was snowing softly, and the streetlights cast a deep golden light over the cars parked on the street. It was beautiful. Grantaire’s chest ached viciously.

He stepped down the stairs, fumbling for his keys.

“Grantaire!”

Grantaire closed his eyes, halting.

“Hey, Grantaire,” said Enjolras, out of breath. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Grantaire turned and looked at him. He was just as beautiful as Grantaire remembered. He hadn’t brushed his hair, and he had faint purple shadows under his eyes. He was wearing a “No Gods No Masters” t-shirt and ripped jeans, and he was clearly trying not to shiver. However, he held his head up and looked Grantaire directly in the eye, clearing his throat. 

“Please?”

“Okay,” said Grantaire.

“Courfeyrac almost killed me,” said Enjolras earnestly, leaning towards him. “I honestly thought he was going to out-and-out murder me.” He blinked, looking down at his hands, curled around the mug of coffee they’d ordered at the 24-hour diner just off campus. “I just didn’t get it.”

“Didn’t get what?” said Grantaire.

Enjolras’s gaze snapped up, piercing straight through Grantaire’s heart. “You were in love with me,” he said. “And I didn’t see it. Not only that, I never tried to help you. I never even thought about it. All this activism, all these programs, and I never even took care of one of the people closest to me.” His mouth twisted. “When Courf wanted to take me out behind the dumpsters and curb-stomp me - ” 

Grantaire snorted softly.

“ - I was completely taken aback. I was mad at  _ him,  _ I thought he was totally overreacting _ .  _ And then Ferre stepped in and explained, and it was like waking up and seeing everything for the first time.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know how I got home that night, I don’t remember. I woke up the next morning and just laid there. I couldn’t believe how terrible I’d been, or who I’d become.” He stared down into his coffee.

“Grantaire, I’m sorry,” he said. “It doesn’t make it any better, but I am.”

Grantaire’s hands were shaking again. “So you - you didn’t know - ”

“That you were in love with me?” finished Enjolras softly, his eyes bright blue. “No. Not at all. I know it’s unbelievable, but it’s true,” he said, letting out a small laugh. “I only learned about it when Courfeyrac was in my face, screaming  _ he’s in love with you and you don’t deserve any of it, you heartless bastard  _ and I kind of had to reassess everything.”

Grantaire swallowed. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” said Enjolras, apparently running out of steam. “Um. So. Again, I really am sorry. And I know that you didn’t have to come here with me, or speak with me, so I really appreciate that. And,” Grantaire watched his throat work, fascinated. “If you don’t want to come back, I understand that too.”

“But -- ” Grantaire couldn’t finish the thought.

“But what?”

“But you don’t want me to come back,” said Grantaire, his fingers ice-cold. “Right?”

Enjolras’s eyes got very wide. “Oh, R,” he whispered. His hand reached out and grasped Grantaire’s impulsively across the table, and Grantaire jumped. “Sorry,” said Enjolras, pulling it back. Reeling, Grantaire almost stopped him, but held himself back.

“I want you to come back,” said Enjolras, strangely pink. “I would do anyth-- I’d really like it, if you came back. Because even though we didn’t get along, you were always the best at making the arguments better. You made  _ everything  _ better. I just never saw you there. I’m sorry.” He stopped, biting his lip. “I don’t know how to convince you. I just want you there.”

Grantaire took a deep breath.  _ I just want you there _ . “Okay,” he said. “How do you want to start?”

“Um,” said Enjolras, looking lost. “Will you come back to meetings? And you totally don’t have to talk to me one-on-one or anything, but maybe you could say what you think? You could even just talk to Ferre, and not to me.”

“I think,” said Grantaire, his heart trembling. “That I should come back, and we should maybe try to start being friends.”

Enjolras’s face split into a gigantic smile. He brought up his hand to cover it, but Grantaire could still see it, burning like a brand in his mind’s eye, gummy and genuine and wonderful.

“Oh my God,” he said breathlessly. “Thank you. I didn’t think you would ever want to speak to me again. You’ll - you’ll come back? Really?”

“Yes,” said Grantaire, terribly in love. 

“Can you forgive me?” asked Enjolras quietly.

“I’ll get there,” said Grantaire.

“That’s fine - that’s perfect. Thank you.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, sitting in the dim lighting of the diner, so beautiful and so uncharacteristically gentle that he had to suppress the mad desire to throw himself across the table and into his arms. “Do you need a ride?” he asked, his voice almost breaking. 

“No,” said Enjolras, gazing at him. “Thank you, though.”

Things were different after that.

“I don’t think that hate speech should be limited, though, regardless,” said Grantaire. “Like I hear what you’re saying, especially about marginalization, but as a right, I think it’s pretty untouchable.”

“Yes, but isn’t hate speech a violation of other people’s rights? Can’t it be construed as an abrogation of my freedom if your expression prevents me from expressing myself the way I want to?” said Enjolras.

Grantaire considered. “I think that’s fair,” he said. “But I think that everyone needs a platform, however ridiculous or wrong they are, as long as they aren’t harming anyone or inciting violence or whatever. The abridgement of free speech starts small, and before you know it, you’ve got the Terror again and nobody can say anything.”

Enjolras looked at him. 

“What?”

Enjolras shook his head, smiling. “Nothing. You’re just - you’re so eloquent.”

“What?” said Grantaire again. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are,” said Enjolras, smiling wider. “It’s… refreshing.”

“What?” Apparently that was all he was capable of saying now.

“O _ -kay _ , you guys, can you stop flirting and get back to the topic?” called Courfeyrac from the back of the Musain. Jehan giggled. 

“Wh--  _ flirting?”  _ said Grantaire, but Enjolras cleared his throat, turning pink. 

“Right,” he said, turning away. “Marginalized groups. So, we’ve got the LGBTQIA+ community…” 

_ What just happened? _

_ Enjolras: could we get coffee at the diner tomorrow to go over what you were saying about free speech? I want to write it down.  _

_ You: yeah definitely, what time? _

“But I think that art can also help a movement. Look at  _ Guernica.  _ I feel like Picasso changed a whole country’s perspective on war with that one.”

“That’s true,” said Enjolras thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought of that. Would you - would you feel comfortable with making some posters? Just something small, and we’d pay you?”

“Sure,” said Grantaire easily. “What were you thinking?”

“I have no idea. Whatever you think would be compelling.”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah, absolutely. I’ll send you some sketches.”

“Thank you,” said Enjolras. “Um.”

“Hmm?”

“I was just. Wondering.” It was strangely unsettling, seeing Enjolras struggle to express himself. “If, maybe, you wantedtomakethisadate?”

“A date?” He must have misheard.

“Yeah,” said Enjolras, brick red. “If you wanted.”

Grantaire looked around the diner. It was late; the place was mostly deserted save for a few solo students studying, and they were in a darker corner. He turned back to Enjolras, who was really doing a number on his bottom lip, his eyes huge, and leaned across the table. 

“I would really like that,” he said softly, not trusting his voice. He pushed a hand through Enjolras’s golden curls and kissed him gently.

He was  _ not  _ expecting Enjolras to push back into him, to reach out and pull him closer, to open his mouth and bite on Grantaire’s bottom lip. He gasped.

“Sorry,” whispered Enjolras against his cheek.

He let out a breathless laugh. “Don’t apologize.”

Enjolras pulled back slightly and looked straight at him, ocean-blue. He was beautiful. 

“Do you want to get dinner? No, wait, we’re at a diner,” he said, laughing. “I can’t think straight. Um. Do you want to get out of here?”

Grantaire smiled so hard his face hurt. “Yeah,” he said. 

“And the posters look amazing, by the way,” said Courfeyrac. “You really nailed the whole ‘Liberty Leading the People’ thing.”

“Thanks,” said Grantaire. 

The Musain was full of people. Grantaire saw people from his art classes, a girl from his freshman biology class years ago, and even people he worked with at the studio. Bahorel’s boxing friends were here, and Joly’s hospital buddies, and even a few of Cosette’s fellow elementary school teachers. 

“Grantaire!” called Enjolras, pushing his way through the packed Musain. He leaned in and kissed him, quick and sweet. “Hey, I wanted to thank you again.”

“For what?”

“The posters were perfect. They were phenomenal. Do you see all these people here? It’s because of those posters. It’s because of you.” Enjolras didn’t beam at Grantaire, really, he just… radiated at him with a gentle, constant strength. Grantaire had never felt so warm in his life. 

He leaned up and kissed Enjolras’s cheek, watched him turn pink, and heard the voices of all the people he loved laughing and talking together. Someone was playing the  _ West Side Story  _ soundtrack and he could hear Eponine singing along to ‘America’. His throat worked, and he looked down. 

Enjolras took his hand. The contrasting colors of their hands, woven together, was perhaps the most beautiful thing Grantaire had ever seen. 


End file.
